


Fourth Time's The Charm

by JaycieVictory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, F/M, Fluffyfest, I hope it's a treat, I promise neither of them are alcoholics, Well - Freeform, Yuletide Treat, Yuletide fic, it's a very belated, lots of firewhisky though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaycieVictory/pseuds/JaycieVictory
Summary: Draco and Hermione keep ending up in the same pub by chance... or is it?One-shot
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, dramione
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	Fourth Time's The Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness, it's been a long time since I've written. Feels likes the Tin Man stretching rusty limbs. I used this same format to write a Captain Swan fic years ago. I felt it worked here, too.
> 
> As is often the way with me, it poured out of me in one go, and I've stayed up stupidly late finishing it. I may read it in the morning and cringe. I hope not. And I hope it brings you some joy. If it does, please do let me know. Encouragement goes a long way to helping me write :) Oh, gosh, I hope this doesn't suck...

**  
Fourth Time's the Charm**

_  
Once could be circumstance…_

The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t the most prepossessing of inns these days, despite Tom’s attempts to pretty it up for the festive season with holly and mistletoe and gently chiming bells. It wasn’t rundown exactly, just… forlorn and a shadow of what it once was. It had become a ghost town during the War, deserted by most wizards who had shunned public places for fear of running into Death Eaters.

It might return to its former glory with time, though it had now been seven months since the cataclysmic events at Hogwarts, but from Hermione’s perspective that would ruin it.

Right now, it was so blessedly, beautifully quiet.

Here Hermione could just sit with a book, accompanied only by the crackle and pop of the fire, or the occasional murmur of Tom offering to refill her Firewhisky. No one expressing surprise at her choice of drink, no one worriedly furrowing their brows asking if she was okay, no one excitedly approaching her wanting to hear stories of the glories of Harry’s victory and the part she had played. No one’s face dropping with disappointment when they finally noticed her polite but reserved responses.

If this was what it had been like for Harry growing up, petted and pulled and seen somehow as public property… well, he’d done well not to hex them all into next year, really.

With a sense of longing and anticipation so great it was almost physical, Hermione headed for her usual spot near the fire, then slowed in disappointment when she realised it was already occupied… then stopped altogether when she realised who was occupying it.

At first, she thought she must be mistaken - Draco Malfoy, here? In a common inn? Where he might run into the _hoi polloi_? No way.

But there was no mistaking that shock of silvery blond hair. Nor the matching eyebrows raising in surprise.

Disappointment curdled into something harsher. Somehow the fact it was _him_ interrupting her sanctuary…

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” She regretted the bitter outburst as soon as she said it. One thing she and Harry had agreed (though Ron vociferously differed) was that without Malfoy and his mother, they would never have beaten Voldemort. Malfoy refusing to admit who Harry was at the Manor, Mrs Malfoy lying that Harry was dead at the battle, all three refusing to fight with the Death Eaters. How many more would have died if they had fought?

That wasn’t to excuse all of their actions, of course. Malfoy was certainly no saint. But it at least called for civility. And Hermione prided herself on not being a stereotypical Gryffindor hothead.

She braced herself for a sneering insult, but to her surprise, he merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Same as you, by the looks of it.” His gaze slid to her Firewhisky then to his own, which was resting in his grasp on the arm of the wingback chair. “Having a quiet drink.” His voice lacked its usual bite.

Hermione relaxed a little. “Yes, of course,” she nodded. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to snap.”

His shoulders lifted in the merest of shrugs. “Some would say I deserve a lot more.” His gaze shifted around the alcove for a moment then settled back on her face. “Oh, I see. I’ve intruded on your space?”

Hermione blinked. “If anything, I intruded on yours. You were here first.” It grated to say it, but it was true.

He smiled faintly, “And now I shall leave it.” He downed the whisky that remained in his glass, got to his feet and nodded at her. “Have a good evening, Granger.”

He had strode out of sight before she could think what to say in response.

_Twice could be coincidence…_

She left it two weeks before she went back. Longer than she normally would, and not by design. But Christmas was fast approaching and there was so much to do at the Ministry before she officially signed off for break, so much to do to prepare for Christmas Day, so many people who wanted a piece of her…

The shops were now closing, but the Cauldron was still open. Her faithful friend.

She sank into the armchair with a grateful sigh, packages scattered around her. She had forgotten her magically enlarged bag which would have easily held them, so now had to struggle to carry all of them at once. A sure sign she was feeling frazzled. Another sure sign, her snow-tipped hair was crackling around her head in even greater disarray than usual. She could almost hear it thawing from the heat of the fire. She could certainly feel it thawing as ice-water began to drip onto her shoulders.

Any minute now she would get up and go to the bar to get a drink. Just as soon as the feeling returned to the ice-blocks that were formerly her feet…

A glass full of life-giving amber liquid appeared in front of her face. She snatched at it in delight. “Oh, Tom, you’re a lifesaver!” She had downed half its contents before a smooth voice tinged with amusement said, “You’re welcome.”

It was only by pure determination she avoided doing a spit-take. Some things were just too cliché. And the Firewhisky too good to waste.

She swallowed the liquid as Malfoy moved into her eyeline. His hands were empty.

“Malfoy,” she glanced at the glass in her hand, “did you give me your drink?”

His gaze flickered around her face and hair, something like a smile lurking in his eyes. “You looked like you were in greater need of it.” Then his face went carefully blank. “I hadn’t drunk from it, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“I couldn’t care less,” Hermione said frankly, taking another deep gulp. “It’s your lot who’s obsessed with the idea of not mixing. Besides, that level of alcohol would kill most germs.” She contemplated the contents of the glass. “Actually, I think enough of it would bring down a baby elephant.”

The lurking smile returned. “Elephants actually have quite a head for alcohol… and they’re not ‘my lot’ anymore.”

Hermione froze, pretending to still be fascinated by the whisky. “No?” She spoke in a carefully light tone, as if seeking not to frighten an easily startled deer. “Spent a lot of time with elephants, have you?”

“They’re notorious for it in Zambia – the elephants. They have a particular taste for marula fruit, but they wait until it’s so ripe it’s fermented before eating it.”

A chuckle broke free unbidden. “They get drunk on the fruit?”

Malfoy nodded, the smile now visible. “Of course, that’s not when you most need to worry about them.“

Hermione raised her brows. “It’s not? ‘Cos I would have thought drunk eight-ton animals would be a bit of a worry themselves.”

“No, it’s the next day you really need to watch out – turns out elephants with hangovers are incredibly grumpy. They’ve been known to push carriages off the road in a temper.”

Hermione’s chuckle became a full-blown laugh. She looked at the chair sitting opposite her, she looked back at Malfoy. A question hovered on her tongue.

Tom suddenly appeared at Malfoy’s shoulder. “Your room is ready for when you want it, Mr Malfoy. Bed all nice and warmed.” His slight bow was short of obsequious, but respectful.

Hermione’s mouth dropped slightly open in surprise before she could stop herself.

Pink streaked those pale Malfoy cheeks. “Yes, thank you, Tom,” he muttered. There was something approaching the old bite in his tone. He glanced over at Hermione then immediately looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her fully.

“Good evening, Miss Granger.” He bowed his head slightly and strode away again, never more looking and sounding like a Brontë male lead.

Hermione huffed in frustration.  
  


_Three times suggests a habit…  
  
_

  
“What do you mean they’re not your lot anymore?” Hermione asked, slightly out of breath.

Draco looked up in surprise. “Granger? Where did you come from?”

Well, at least he wasn’t calling her Miss Granger anymore…

She’d been walking up and down outside the pub, peering through the windows, then dancing back out of sight again, waiting for a glimpse of impossibly blond hair. She was out of breath because as soon as she saw him appear at the foot of the stairs that led to the bedrooms (of course, that’s where he had kept springing from, how could she not have realised?) she had raced inside and appeared beside him at the bar.

“You’re one to talk.” She snorted lightly. “You kept appearing suddenly like the Very Blond Grim Reaper.”

One corner of his mouth curved. “You’re saying I’m a tow-headed personification of Death?”

Her mouth wanted to smile back. “Don’t try and distract me again! Last time I was here, you said they weren’t your lot anymore. The Pureblood ideologists. What did you mean by that?”

He ran his hands across the top of the bar thoughtfully.

“I didn’t think that’s what you would want to ask me about.” He sounded slightly bemused

“Yes, well, I was warming up to that part,” she confessed.

The corner lifted again. For the first time, he met her gaze. His mouth opened.

“What can I get you lovely folks?”

Tom had appeared in front of them with a smile. They both looked at him. If anything, Hermione’s glare was more Basilisk.

“I’ll just give you a moment,” he said hastily, backing away. They turned back to each other.

Hermione held his gaze and held her breath. Afraid the moment would break, and he’d run off again, and she’d never have the questions that had somehow become so important answered.

“The two questions are rather interlinked.” His voice was soft but curiously emotionless. “I’ve been living here for months. I moved in once my father disowned me when it became clear I was ‘no longer willing to be a true Malfoy’. Since then, I think I’ve pretty much kept this place afloat single-handedly.” He laughed lightly, without humour. “Mother stopped him short of removing my Trust Fund, you see. So, I can still be as generous as I like. Though I thought, until I’m able to convince someone to employ me whilst my father heavily convinces them not to, I had better practice some level of economy. So, I went for somewhere modest.” He said that last word as if unused to it. His gaze had slipped away again. But there was a tightening in his jaw, as if daring her to feel sorry for him.

“Draco…” She took a deep breath. “Would you like to have a drink with me?”  
  


_Four times suggests you like it…_

He was already sat by the fire when she came in on Christmas Eve; a glass cradled in his hands, but his eyes fixed upon the flames.

“Hermione.” His brooding expression gave way to a smile; the light from the fire caught his eyes. They looked like quartz. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

She tucked her wild curls behind her ears and smiled back. “Why not?”

“Well, I figured you’d be busy with family and friends – Potter and Weasley.” He was getting better. He’d managed to say those names without sneering.

“I wanted to give you your present.”

She pulled the hastily wrapped gift from her bag. The bow was lopsided and Spellotape was sticking up on one side, but to be fair, that happened even when Hermione had more time to wrap. She and wrapping had never gotten along.

“Sorry for how it looks,” she mumbled. “It only arrived today.”

Draco received the gift with no indication of judgment. He looked both absurdly pleased and like he wanted to laugh. He held out his hand, and for a heart-pounding moment, Hermione wondered if he wanted to hold hers, then she realised he was looking expectantly at the door.

Something on the other side butted it open. A beautifully wrapped gift in turquoise and gold appeared and flew into his hands. _Nice bit of wandless magic there_ , she thought, ignoring her disappointment.

Then she noticed something Draco already had. Though worlds apart in their wrapping, the two gifts were suspiciously similar shapes.

She grinned at him. “On the count of three?” He nodded. “One, two, three!”

They tore into their presents then, laughing, held their identical bottles of Lagavulin Firewhisky aloft. Only made in one Wizarding distillery in Scotland, they were considered to be the best Firewhisky available. Hermione had gone well over her present budget to buy it for him, but she wasn’t surprised that didn’t occur to him. Some habits die hard. And when she had thought about what she wanted to get him for Christmas, she couldn’t resist.

“You have exquisite taste, Miss Granger. For a Muggle.” She marvelled how he could make that joke and her not feel any bite to it.

“And you have a generous spirit, Mr Malfoy,” she returned. “For a Pureblood.”

He laughed, his eyes lighting up again, and she caught herself unconsciously starting to lean forward to get closer to them.

She took a swallow from her glass to hide her embarrassment. She felt his gaze on her, and her blush deepened. Had he noticed?

“Your eyes look like Firewhisky in the flames,” he said softly. “Liquid amber.”

Hermione held her breath in shock. “They do?”

He nodded. “I noticed that a while ago. I liked it more than I wanted to,” he admitted.

“Is that why you kept running away?”

He looked mildly revolted. “I did _not_ run away.

“Yeah, you did.” Her head cocked. “Like a frightened gazelle.”

He huffed in annoyance. Oh, God. She even found that attractive now.

Her heart was pounding again. Well, was she a Gryffindor or not?

She set her glass on the small table next to her chair and took his from his hands, setting that down too.

He looked at her in question. Refusing to speak in case her voice trembled, she pulled him to his feet, took a step forward and brushed her lips against his.

Her legs buckled slightly and a small part of her brain that was still functioning marvelled at how even this brief contact had nearly overwhelmed her. She broke the contact and was pleased to see him swallow hard, eyelashes unconsciously fluttering. At least she wasn’t the only one.

The slow smile that dawned was different from any she had previously seen from him. Something beautiful and precious.

“You’ve ruined my plan, you know,” he murmured. He didn’t seem to mind too much, as his arms snaked around her.

“Your plan?” Her hands had slid up his arms to rest on his shoulders, with no memory of her asking them to do so.

He nodded. “There’s mistletoe above your chair. That’s why I always made sure you sat in that one. I was working my way up to kissing you. A beautifully constructed twelve-step plan.”

She laughed. “How very, very Slytherin.”

“Yes, and you barrelled in like a typical Gryffindor and ruined weeks of planning,” he complained.

She pressed her lips to his again and this time lingered longer. Her hands drifted up and stroked through his hair. He made an unconscious humming noise that she found utterly adorable (damn it). Getting control of herself again (for a moment) she pulled away. “Do you really mind?”

He looked at least as dazed as she felt (good!), though his voice, if anything, was even deeper and smoother. “Not at all. Please feel free to barrel in at any time.”

He pulled her into another kiss. She smiled against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Draco.”

“Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

_fin_


End file.
